Never Let A Smile Ruin Your Bad Day

May 3, 1988|By Erma Bombeck

Why is it when you're ''down'' people try to cheer you up?

When I have a funky day, I want to hang around with fat people whose kids haven't called them in a month either . . . whose husband gets excited only when his food is served hot and who also is being questioned by the IRS on her 1979 tax return.

Goodness can get on your nerves. I was reminded of this when a secretary in Skokie, Ill., wrote about her 10:15 coffee break at the office with another employee called ''Rose.''

When the writer said her husband got fired, Rose said, ''Everything's for the best.''

When she said she needed new clothes for work, but they were expensive, Rose sniffed, ''You can only wear one dress at a time.''

The rest went something like this.

Secretary: ''Wish I could lose 15 pounds.''

Rose: ''At least you're not sick.''

Secretary: ''My daughter hardly calls me anymore.''

Rose: ''Children have a right to live their own lives.'' (This, as she wipes away a tear.)

Secretary: ''Got a free bar of soap in the mail and broke out in hives.''

Rose: ''Nothing is for nothing.''

Secretary: ''My ex-boss was a real neurotic. Drove everyone crazy.''

Rose: ''We are not put here to judge.''

Secretary: ''My boss is a real twit this morning.''

Rose: ''Nobody's perfect.''

I'm not sure, but I think I got Rose's Christmas newsletter.

''Downs'' are a part of our lives. It's unnatural if you don't have them with some regularity. I recognize them when they hit.

To begin with, I wake up in the morning with a patch of hair that thinks it's a tree. It comes right out of the crown and stands there . . . all day long.

While I am showering the washer will click on, leaving me with only enough water to mist the plant. Buttons will fall off my clothes. My elastic skirt-band breaks under the strain. All day I'm late for everything.

My letters all have windows in them. I'm a rotten mother. What is life? Where am I going?

I was born to be a doormat. Why don't I just stamp WELCOME on my chest and lie in front of the door of the entrance way?

I honestly don't want anyone to talk me out of it. It's good to take a self-pity bath once in a while. You know you're being ridiculous, but you'll snap out of it in your own time.

I don't want someone to tell me the bluebird of happiness is building a nest in my tree.

I just want someone who looks up and says, ''Give a tissue. The bluebird did it to me too!''